vituperation

August 30, 2003

First things first: we didn’t get a new cat — the one I mentioned in the last entry, Simone, is just a pet store kitty I really thought was a gorgeous thing. When I fliply wrote about her hiding in the bathroom, I meant she hid in her litterbox in the cage. It didn’t even dawn on me that people might think I was talking about a people bathroom.

Sometimes I’m thick like that.

The produce manager in Publix struck up a conversation with me this morning, by asking me if I had a long weekend. I told him about the five-days, one thing led to another, and before I knew it we’d been talking about twenty minutes. He now knows pretty much every important thing that’s happened to me in the last seven years or so, including: the whole story behind how my company was formed, how I found true love on the Internet, how I ran a popular weight-oriented web site, and how I’m now a publishing magnate.

For the record, we talked about much more than just me. I’m just writing about me now.

When we ended the conversation he said, "Wow. I always thought you were just an average Joe. You’re always so down to earth when you come in here."

Heh. I don’t know why that strikes me so funny. I guess it’s because I am just an average Joe. Except I’m a Fred, but you get the point.

Generally, when I’m off work, around eleven or twelve I get an itch down deep in my soul. I’m not sure what causes this itch, but it’s incessant and won’t abate until I do something about it. I call it the "get out of the damn house" itch, because it makes me crazy to do anything but sit around in my house in the middle of the day.

I suspect my parents in this, with the constant "Get out of the house and go play, it’s the middle of the day!" when I was a kid, but I have no concrete proof.

Yesterday I had this itch, so I suggested to Robyn that we run to Publix for a few boxes of unsalted crackers, to take down to the UAH lake and feed to the ducks, geese, fish, and turtles. Duck’s rights activists, please close your mail client now. We tried the duck food, as well as cracked corn, and they don’t like it. They turned their beaks up at it. I imagine it’s because they’ve been raised on bread and crackers, but like the mental itch I get, I have no concrete proof.

It was a beautiful summer day, warm without being too hot. The sky was a deep azure, and fluffy white clouds chased one another in it like frolicking mystical beasts. Robyn and I quickly became separated by the ducks and geese, who instantly crowded us when they realized we came bearing gifts. I wandered down toward the edge of the lake, intent on drawing a crowd of turtles and fish. On the way, I handed out crackers one at a time to the ducks and geese that approached, honking, hissing, and quacking. Nothing sounds as cool to me as a crowd of jabbering ducks, making their little under-the-breath wackwackwackwack sounds.

A different sound suddenly enveloped me, its shrill bleat driving into my head like a steel dagger and shocking me with its volume. It’s hard to put into words, this sound, because I’d never heard anything like it. It rose on the warm air like a siren, warbling and changing in both pitch and intensity. I spun, startled, and got an even bigger shock.

That sound was coming from my wife.

She was running across the field, mightily pumping her arms with each stride. Close on her heels was a pack of Canada geese, honking and hissing at her. Frantically, she flung handful after handful of crackers over her shoulder as a diversionary tactic. I came to her aid as best I could by collapsing to the ground in a gale of giggles.

Finally, her sleeve of crackers was empty and the geese backed off long enough for her to get some more. She kept a wary eye on them as she bent to the bag on the ground.

"GodDAMMIT!" she bellowed, "That bastard just pecked me in the ass!"

"Just act like you’re going to touch him," I said through my tears, "that scares them off."

"But they scare me!"

"Oh," I said, and took the biggest stack of crackers I could hold out of the sleeve in my hand.

In a scene reminescent of the rats in the movie Willard, geese and ducks swirled around me in a frenzy, their glittery eyes focused on the treats I held just above their heads.

"I guess you wouldn’t want me to do this then, would you?" I called out, and pitched all the crackers at her.

If you watch him long enough –

He’ll roll around and bitch at you –

But then he’ll do it –

And you’ll get a picture that was worth the wait.

Of course, if you look at the full-size version upside-down, it’s even funnier.